


Down to the Last Dime

by BeeBeMe



Series: The Wasteland's a Rough Place (Fallout Whumptober 2020) [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeBeMe/pseuds/BeeBeMe
Summary: ”When the last dime is gone, I'll sit on the curb outside with a pencil and a ten-cent notebook and start the whole thing over again.”A series of loosely connected Preston/Sturges one-shots because these men deserve the world
Relationships: Preston Garvey/Sturges
Series: The Wasteland's a Rough Place (Fallout Whumptober 2020) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951108
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Down to the Last Dime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 4 of Whumptober 2020: Out of Time (Caged). If there's one good thing to come out of Quincy, it's Sturges - a fact that the mechanic keeps on proving again and again and again...

Everything about this situation was ironic, but Preston Garvey couldn’t find it in himself to laugh.

What were the chances of the last Minuteman leading the last Quincy settlers to the ‘Museum of Freedom’? How ironic was it for the Minutemen to die in the place that celebrated their values? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the universe was mocking them. It would be par for the course. Quincy, then Lexington, then Concord. Months of pain and fear, wearing them down like a river over stone. Marcy was angry, Jun was quiet, Sturges worked, Mama Murphy stayed optimistic. Preston Garvey felt dead on his feet, and soon he’d be plain-out dead. 

It was an inevitability - a fact that he’d been dragged kicking and screaming into accepting. Three months ago he’d been hopeful, looking to General Hollis with unquestioning loyalty and trust. General Hollis was dead. So was everyone else. Quincy was home to over a hundred people - working and striving _and trying so damn hard_ to live and make a home for themselves. One hundred settlers to four. Thirty Minutemen to one. It felt hopeless because it was. He felt like he was going to die because he _was_.

Not yet, at least he hoped. He was going to try. He owed it to them. He promised to protect them, and he was going to _try._ That’s what they deserved.

The Museum of Freedom rose from Concord’s burnt-out ruins like a spectre. Large, one door, a balcony above the courtyard. Defensible, plenty of sightlines. Enough places to scavenge and even a working generator. It was too good to be true because it was.

The raiders found them in the night. Jun was the one to spot them. He couldn't sleep anyway, he’d said, his voice empty and quiet. If anyone had to lose sleep keeping watch, it should be him. Nothing Preston could say discouraged him, though his own reservations on Jun’s perceptiveness as a guard remained unspoken. Unwarranted as well, as it turned out.

He’d scrambled in from the balcony, nearly falling over Sturges’ sleeping mat. “They’re here, they’re here to finish us off. Gunners. They found us. Oh God, they’re going to kill us-” over and over and over, shuttering words falling from his mouth like a waterfall. Jun’s bony fingers dug into his shoulders, begging him to save them but unwilling to let go. It took Marcy grabbing and holding him down for Preston to stand. 

That’s when it began, over a week ago. They moved all the food they could find into one office room and barricaded the door. Preston’s days and nights were spent on the balcony, rifle between his knees or in his hands. The sun slipped overhead, the moon following on its tail. The stars shone so brilliantly here with no settlement lights to compete with. Only the flash of his laser rifle could block their light, and even then only for a moment.

The raiders - not Gunners, thank God - kept coming. For a few days, they kept them from the building itself. Sturges picked his way up to the vertibird and found the power armor. Marcy was the one to find the generator. Not one of them could open the goddamn lock. The raiders inched forward, steadily moving across the courtyard. Picking their way over bodies, yelling about what _exactly_ they’d do once they got inside. He caught Marcy crying once, though he didn’t know if it was from fear or anger. Either way, it scared the shit out of him.

The reality of the situation was that they were trapped - caged like molerats. It wasn’t a matter of if, but _when_ the snare would snap closed and drag them all down with it. There were so many, and Preston was one man with a gun. He’d look at their faces, to the people he’d sworn to protect, every night and hope that they knew how _sorry_ he was. Sturges understood, or at least he thought the other man did. The mechanic would nod and smile and talk to him during those long nights. It was more than he deserved, but Preston greedily hung onto his company.

They would all be dead soon. What did it matter?

One day, they came too quickly. One moment the courtyard was empty. The next, it was filled with screaming bodies. They kept him pinned down - any movement sent a barrage of bullets his way. They chipped at the concrete and whizzed by his ears. One would hit soon, and then that would be it. If not now, then later. There was no escape with walls and guns on all sides. 

Something slammed into the door from outside of the office.

The image of Sturges’ wide brown eyes was seared into his memory. For a moment, it was just them. One look, filled with fear, and time stopped. Preston wanted to say that he was sorry - that this was it. That he appreciated him. That he hoped Sturges knew how brave he was, how worse-off the Commonwealth would be without his skills. Without him. That he wanted to protect him, and that he was _sorry_ that he couldn’t.

Then a bullet flew by and embedded itself in the wall right behind Preston’s ear. Bits of stone flecked against his skin, digging in and pulling him back. Sturges was suddenly at the door, braced against it. “Preston! Shit - the bookcase!”

He had to crawl at first, get away from the raider’s line of sight, and then he ran. The weight of the bookcase made his arms ache, but he had it in front of the door just in time for it to bow out with another hit.

“You bastards! You can’t stay in there forever. We’re gonna put your fuckin’ heads on a pike! You hear me!” The raider punched the door. “You’re dead! Dead!”

A couch joined the bookcase, along with any and everything else they could pry up and pile on. The raider at the door would leave and the room would be quiet, but they’d always be replaced before long. Some would pace - their footsteps just barely audible. Others would rant and slam on the door. One just laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed -

Sturges grabbed his shoulder and led him away from the door, continuing to move despite his protests. “Th’ barricade’ll hold, and th' crazy bastard sounds loony enough to put a bullet through the door. Ain’t gonna be any use dead, friend.” So he’d sat him down just inside the balcony’s threshold. The stars twinkled above, just as cold and impersonal and _beautiful_ as ever. Sturges talked and his low drawl chased away whatever dark thoughts swirled in the corners of Preston’s mind. For a moment, things were okay. The raider cackled, Jun quietly sobbed, and Commonwealth lightning rang out in the distance, but Sturges talked about the power armor and the Atom Cats and that one time he had to go slogging in knee-deep mud to find a missing wingnut and it was _okay._

The sun rose without either of them sleeping, just like they’d done for the past week. The clouds turned rusty under the morning’s glow, deepening into violet and lightning to yellow and everything in between. Sturges smiled and Preston found himself smiling back. They were still trapped. They were still going to die. It was still going to be Preston Garvey’s fault. Thoughts nipped at his heels where his shadow connected to his body. The raider was still fucking laughing.

They were still going to die, but that smile _almost_ made it okay.


End file.
